Coming Home
by thymefortea
Summary: One-shot based on speculation/spoilers for S3E3. Having returned home, Shelagh finds comfort and healing in the days following the procedure and results that shattered the dreams she had for her new family.


_This little oneshot was born out of speculation/spoilers for episode 3 of season 3. Reviews are welcome - they are like horlicks and cake._

_**Disclaimer: **__While I wish they were mine, Timothy, Shelagh and Patrick Turner belong to Heidi Thomas McGann and Neal Street Productions. I am just borrowing them to satisfy my muse and returning them unharmed. :)_

* * *

><p><em>Coming Home<em>

Timothy Turner frantically rubbed at his notebook, with a force so strong, the eraser wore a hole into the thin paper. With a sigh of frustration, he threw the pencil down and slumped in his seat, a look of defeat on his face as he glared at his arithmetic exercises. His eyes glanced upward across the table to the vacant chair opposite him, the one usually occupied by Shelagh, who would keep him company while he completed his homework.

Ever since she and his father had wed, upon his arrival home from school each day, Timothy was met with a hug and ruffle of his hair from Shelagh before she would retreat to the kitchen and return with a tray of tea and biscuits for the center of the table. It was their little ritual, a quiet time for just the two of them - to share tea and companionship. Timothy would start on his easiest assignments, so he could tell her about his day before tackling the more challenging subjects, and Shelagh would listen in earnest to his chatter before beginning preparations for dinner.

Timothy's mouth screwed into a frown as he thought of Shelagh, who was currently resting upstairs. It seemed all she wanted to do now was stay in bed, ever since his father brought her home from the hospital two days ago. His father had provided a vague explanation, something about a baby and an operation (_It's not growing in the right place_, he'd said), but had silenced any further questions, instructing Timothy to not bother Shelagh, as it would upset her and she needed rest to heal. Timothy kept silent, but noticed Shelagh growing ever more sullen and withdrawn. Her eyes that usually shined bright with cheer and joy were now streaked red and held blank stares. Her giggles at his silly antics and playful teasing toward his father had vanished, replaced by bouts of crying and silence, as if she was oblivious to their presence at all.

When Shelagh had first married his dad, Timothy felt a lightness in his home for the first time since his mother died; the house was bursting with the laughter and delight, comfort and togetherness, contentment and love that he had ached for the past two years. It was as if Shelagh had packed happiness along with the clothes in her suitcase when she moved into the Turner home. Now, Timothy feared that the joy which had just begun to permeate their home once again had been left back at the hospital, a treasured possession that was never packed for the trip home, forgotten and lost forever at The London.

Timothy let out a sigh and kicked his feet back and forth in the space beneath the table. Suddenly overcome with sense of determination, Timothy planted his feet on the ground, pushed his chair back, and walked to the kitchen to set about filling the kettle.

* * *

><p>Shelagh Turner curled onto her left side, pulling her knees closer to her chest and squeezing her eyes tight as she felt a sudden cramp in her lower abdomen. The searing pain she initially felt following the operation had now waned to a dull ache in her belly, with only an occasional sharp twinge here and there. Releasing a shuddered breath, she stared at the blank wall next to her bed and felt wetness prick her eyes. She clenched her jaw tightly as she made a futile attempt to hold back her tears. She could not recall a time in her adult life when she had cried so violently, so often, for such long periods at a time. Even her darkest days of doubt in the Sanatorium paled in comparison to the torturous grief and hopelessness she felt now.<p>

The one consolation, however, was that, while she had felt utterly alone in her suffering those long months at the Sanatorium, she now had her husband by her side to share her current affliction and anguish — her husband who had cried with her, who had kissed her eyelids, catching the tears as they slipped down her cheeks, and who had held her for countless hours in his loving arms after they had learned the news that pierced their hearts. Since returning home from the London two days prior, Patrick had not stopped doting on her, tirelessly fussing over every tiny thing and asking again and again if she needed anything, if she was in pain, if she was _alright. _

Truthfully, however, after the deluge of tests, procedures, statistics, and discussions with the physician and her husband, Shelagh had begun to feel suffocated. She had actually been grateful earlier that morning, when Patrick asked if she would be alright on her own if he returned to a full day of work. She felt smothered by information, by his attentions, and by her thoughts, and hoped, that if she were left alone, she could find the air to breathe. Her mind was racing with doubts and questions - why had her dreams been so cruelly snatched away from her, was God punishing her choosing a man over Him, how could she have been so foolish, sewing and knitting for a baby before she knew if it even existed? Shelagh knew she had been quietly withdrawing from her family, but the many conversations she and Patrick shared over the last few days had exhausted her, and the only company she desired at the moment was her own solitude. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind.

* * *

><p>Timothy arranged the teacups and a small plate of biscuits neatly on the tray and carried it toward the stairs. He glanced upward at the daunting staircase then down at his leg braces with a wry look. He carefully transferred the tray to one arm, and, grasping the railing tightly with his free hand, slowly made his way up the stairs, a mantra of <em>please don't drop, please don't drop<em> repeating in his head. Upon successfully reaching the landing, he smiled proudly and made his way down the hall. The door to the bedroom his father and Shelagh shared was left partly opened, and he stopped at the doorway to peer inside. His eyes landed on Shelagh, who was lying in bed, facing the wall with the bedsheets tucked up to her chin and her body curled up tightly - _like a little kid_, he thought.

He thought he heard a quiet sniffle and twisted his mouth up in hesitation as he recalled his father's instructions to not disturb Shelagh. When he heard her take a trembling breath, he took a deep breath of his own and quietly padded into the bedroom.

"I brought you some tea."

Shelagh lifted her head from the pillow at the sound and craned her neck toward the door, where Timothy stood nervously, a tea tray in his hands and uncertain look on his face. Pressing her hands firmly against the mattress, she gingerly moved herself into a slight sitting position and carefully leaned back into the pillows against the headboard. Tucking the sheets close around her middle and swallowing hard against the knot in her throat, she gave the boy a small, sad smile, emptiness still in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered shakily.

Timothy returned her smile with a bright one of his own and a look of relief, and quickly moved closer to the bed, delicately placing the tray on the bedside table. Timothy remained standing next to the bed, unsure of what he should do or say next.

Casting his eyes down at his feet, he quietly said, "I know you're sad." When Shelagh's tearful gaze remained fixed on the tray, he looked toward her with his heart fluttering nervously in his chest and continued, "I wish I could make you happy again."

Shelagh looked up at Timothy with absolute wonder in her eyes before her face crumbled and the tears began to fall. Reaching her arms out toward him, she pulled him to sit on the bed and her body frantically wrapped around him, cocooning him in her arms.

"Oh, Timothy… my dearest sweet boy," she hiccuped through a flood of tears, clutching him with all her might. "You do make me happy, so very happy," she choked, "Oh, my sweet darling boy." She moved her right hand to cradle his head tightly to her chest, while the other rubbed gentle circles on his back. She softly leaned her chin down and wept into his hair, squeezing her eyes tight, as she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for the child she had already been given. After a few moments, when her tears began to subside, she found the words she needed to speak: "I thank God every day that he blessed me with you, Timothy. I love you so very much," her voice soft and tender and filled with love.

Shelagh slowly pulled back to look at Timothy, still keeping the boy in her warm embrace. When Timothy peered up to meet her gaze, he was met with a smile, a real one this time, one that reached all the way up to her watery eyes with love and pride. He beamed at her with one of his sunny smiles, the kind that always made her heart melt with joy and gratitude, and shyly said, "I love you, too, Shelagh."

Still smiling, Shelagh gently patted the space next to her. "Come sit with me," she implored, "and we can have our tea."

Timothy clumsily clambered onto the bed and settled himself close to her side before carefully accepting the cup of tea she held out for him. Reaching over to retrieve her own cup and saucer, she turned back to him. "Now," she said brightly, "Tell me about something you learned in school today…"

* * *

><p>Patrick Turner brushed a hand over his weary face after hanging up his coat and dropping his case in the entryway. He walked into the sitting room only to find it empty, Timothy's homework abandoned on the table. He frowned as he noted the smeared lead and rough hole worn into the page of his book, likely from a bout of angry erasing while working on a difficult math problem, he surmised.<p>

He raised his eyes and peered through the hatch into the kitchen, observing that everything was just as he'd left it that morning. Patrick sighed, wondering if Shelagh had even ventured out of bed today. He had begun to worry about her mental state after she'd been discharged, concerned by just how despondent, taciturn, and sorrowful she'd become over the last two days. He and Shelagh had both been overcome with shock when they learned of the physician's concern for an ectopic pregnancy and the need for an operation. Shelagh had secretly shared her suspicions with Patrick a week prior, so when she went to the appointment he'd arranged for her, the physician's findings were anything but the happy confirmation they had both been anxiously awaiting.

If the news of the ectopic had been unexpected, the results from the procedure had been nothing short of devastating. Shelagh's face had clouded with darkness as the doctor explained his discovery of the scar tissue and the unlikelihood of any subsequent pregnancy. She had inhaled sharply, gulping the air, her bottom lip quivering, before finally dissolving into violent sobs once the doctor left her room. He had engulfed her in his strong arms, her hands clawing frantically at his shirt, and had covered her with kisses, his face pressed against hers, until he could no longer differentiate the taste of her salty tears from his own. No words had been spoken, and they remained that way for hours until their tears finally began to ebb and he urged her to sleep.

In the days immediately following, during the brief moments that Shelagh slept, Patrick had sought more facts from the specialist - statistics, the latest treatments, anything that might improve their chances and give them hope again. He had tried to offer Shelagh reassurance - that tremendous advancements were being made in reproductive medicine, that they could explore every possibility, even adoption if that's what she wanted, that he would be by her side and love her regardless of what might happen. He had quickly discovered, however, that Shelagh had not been ready to discuss the matter in any detail; she was still raw from the news, overwhelmed by grief and disappointment, and unable to think about the future.

She had been silent during the car ride home from the London, her eyes vacant, the occasional tear escaping as she stared out the window, oblivious to the world passing outside. The journey seemed long and painfully reminiscent of the time he had driven her to St. Anne's Sanatorium, when the car had been filled with uncomfortable silence and trepidation, him stealing an occasional glance in her direction, her eyes fixed lifelessly ahead.

And so, Patrick had been hesitant to leave her alone for the whole day that morning, but he had taken so much time off from work already and was now terribly behind on his rounds and duties at the surgery. He had brought Shelagh tea and sat beside her on their bed, delicately brushing her curls from her face, tucking a golden lock behind her ear. When he had asked if she would be alright if he returned to work, she had only given him a barely perceptible nod and continued to stare into nothingness, her eyes glazed over. He had furrowed his eyebrows at her silent response before leaning down to tenderly press a kiss into her hair. With one last plea that she call his surgery or Nonnatus House if she began to take a turn or needed anything, he had dropped another soft kiss on her forehead and left. Once outside the room, Patrick had leaned heavily against the closed door and closed his eyes. He desperately hoped that with time would come healing and acceptance and that eventually they would begin to leave their grief and disappointment behind and discover new possibilities and hope for the future.

He surveyed the room once more and called out for Timothy, but was only met with silence. He turned back toward the hallway and slowly ascended the stairs. Once upstairs, he peeked into Timothy's room but found it dark and empty. He then detected muffled voices floating from the end of the hall and followed the sound toward their bedroom. When he reached the doorway, a corner of his mouth quirked upward as he took in the scene before him. Shelagh was sitting up in bed, taking small sips of tea, her attention focused on Timothy, who sat perched beside her, chattering on about his day between bites of his biscuit. Patrick stood frozen, mesmerized by the sight of his wife and son until his presence was finally noticed by Timothy.

"Hello, Dad," Timothy chirped, causing Shelagh to lift her head and lock eyes with her husband, who wore a pleased grin on his face.

"Well, hello," he replied warmly, his eyes still holding his wife's gaze. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to. I see you got into an argument with your math homework," he teased, venturing further into the room and taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

Timothy gave his father a sheepish look. "I was stuck on a difficult problem, so I decided to take a break and - "

"Timothy was kind enough to bring me some tea," Shelagh interjected softly. "And he's just been telling me what he learned in science class today," she continued, exchanging a small smile with the boy beside her.

"Can you sit with us for a bit, Dad?"

"Of course I can." Patrick deftly moved further up the the bed before removing his shoes and swinging his legs up onto the mattress to recline with his family.

As Timothy carried on eagerly explaining the lab experiment his teacher had planned for the following day, Patrick peered over his son's head toward Shelagh and found her looking back at him, her eyes filled with a peacefulness he had not seen since that fateful day a week ago, when their dreams were shattered and hearts splintered. Stretching his left arm out behind Timothy, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb in small circles, his touch warm, soothing, and featherlight. As they held each other's gaze, their son nestled between them, he offered her silent reassurance with a look that conveyed nothing but pure love and adoration on his face.

Patrick knew things were far from perfect and that there would surely be more tearful embraces, long talks and difficult decisions on the road ahead of them. But in that moment, with his wife and son safely at his side, his heart swelled with love and hope and promise.

Tonight, it seemed, they had made a start.

_FINIS._


End file.
